


no one else could heal my pain

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 01, that "we're on a road trip and there's only one bed" fic that calendiles has desperately needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24600574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: “Friday,” Giles echoed.“Yeah. As an overnight weekend trip to hunt down some books I need.” Ms. Calendar smiled playfully at him. “Isn’t that the kind of thing you’d do for fun anyway?”
Relationships: Jenny Calendar/Rupert Giles
Comments: 27
Kudos: 46
Collections: OTP: A Twosome Of Cuteness





	no one else could heal my pain

**Author's Note:**

> a brief reprieve from ace attorney to finally post the oft-mentioned "giles and jenny go on a road trip" fic! whether or not this fits into canon is up to your interpretation; i really just wanted to write giles and jenny argue-flirting for like ten thousand words.
> 
> title from _there she goes_ by the la's, which is the most early-relationship giles/jenny you can possibly GET.

“All right,” said Ms. Calendar, sitting down next to Giles in the staff room. Most of the teachers stopped talking at this, looking over at them both with bemusement, which made Giles wonder how blatant he and Ms. Calendar had originally been in their dislike of each other. “I know this is very weird, and kind of unprompted, but I did you a favor last week with Mol—”

Giles glanced pointedly over at the listening teachers.

“—uh, Malcolm, and I think you owe me one in return.”

Giles frowned. Carefully, he said, “Is the favor you are about to request of me something similar to the work we did with Malcolm?”

“…kind of?”

“Should we go outside?”

“Maybe. Yeah. Probably a good idea. Sorry if I’m interrupting your, uh,” Ms. Calendar made a show of dramatically looking around the empty table, “socializing time.”

“Oh, for—” Irritated, Giles stood up, motioning for Ms. Calendar to follow as he hurried outside. He tried his best to ignore the rest of the teachers, who were now watching them with unhidden disbelief, and led them to a quiet corner of the hallway. “What is it?”

Ms. Calendar bit her lip. “Okay, I know this kind of thing probably isn’t up your alley, but I need your help,” she said.

Giles felt a strange mixture of smugness and an odd fluttery feeling that he decided to label as concern. “Oh,” he said. “A-are you in danger?”

“Not really,” said Ms. Calendar, “unless you count being left out of some stupid occult boys’ club in LA _danger,_ which I don’t. Just a minor inconvenience.”

“What?”

“Maybe we should go to your office,” said Ms. Calendar evasively. “This is kind of a long story.”

“No, telling me here is fine,” said Giles, who was getting a bit annoyed with how long it seemed to be taking Ms. Calendar to explain what she wanted his assistance with. _He’d_ been _much_ more straightforward than this. “Just—do _tell_ me.”

Ms. Calendar’s smile faded. “Oh boy. Well. This is embarrassing.” She played with the hem of her sleeve before continuing. “About a month ago, I sent an email to this society in LA that one of my online coven members had been in cahoots with before he dropped out and focused in on technopaganism. I wanted to do some more research so I could make sure nothing like Moloch ever happened again, you know? Some kind of blocking software that would keep any more demons from being scanned into the Internet, even by accident.”

Giles blinked. He hadn’t thought of taking preventative measures, and he certainly hadn’t expected that Ms. Calendar would think of something like that either. “How has that been going?” he asked hesitantly.

Ms. Calendar made a face. “Not stellar. There are still a few books I need to continue my research—”

“You’re using _books?_ ” said Giles with surprise.

Ms. Calendar gave him a very irritated look. “Rupert,” she said, “the Internet’s a much more recent invention than the written word. There are a _lot_ of things in recorded history that haven’t yet been transferred onto the Web.”

“Right.” Giles felt somewhat embarrassed. “Of course. My apologies.”

Ms. Calendar waved a dismissive hand. “You’re fine,” she said. “I just _really_ need to get my hands on those books, but those stupid warlocks are all up in arms about letting a technopagan access their precious collection. They’re completely convinced that my brand of magic is useless in the modern world. So I was figuring—”

Giles abruptly understood. “You were figuring you’d call in the librarian with occult experience to get that information instead,” he finished, without a hint of resentment, and actually found himself feeling somewhat guilty. It seemed as though he wasn’t the only one who had thought little of Ms. Calendar and her interests. These people had the power to make things difficult for Ms. Calendar’s efforts to make Sunnydale safer, and yet she was _still_ trying to find a way to work around it. “Ms. Calendar, I—I’d be happy to help,” he said, meaning it.

Ms. Calendar blinked, seeming a bit taken aback by the sincerity in Giles’s tone. “Really?” She let out a nervous laugh. “I was expecting you to put up more of a fight than that.”

“Withholding knowledge from _anyone_ is a distasteful thing to do,” said Giles a bit pointedly. Ms. Calendar smiled at him in an approving, appreciative way that he rather liked. “What can I do to assist you?”

“Well, are you doing anything this weekend?” asked Ms. Calendar without hesitation.

“This—weekend?” Giles repeated.

“I know it’s sudden,” Ms. Calendar continued, “but we really need to get this done as soon as possible. Internet safety is a must. Or, uh, Internet _demon_ safety, I guess, but the point still stands. Can I pick you up on Friday?”

“Friday,” Giles echoed.

“Yeah. As an overnight weekend trip to hunt down some books I need.” Ms. Calendar smiled playfully at him. “Isn’t that the kind of thing you’d do for fun anyway?”

Giles then noticed for the first time that there was no dislike or exasperation in Ms. Calendar’s eyes. He felt strangely warmed by this. “It is,” he said shyly. “In a sense. Should we meet after school, then?”

“Sounds good,” agreed Ms. Calendar. Her smile softened. “Rupert, thank you so much for doing this.”

“Anything to help keep the school safe,” said Giles easily.

“Well.” Ms. Calendar grinned. “Looks like we _do_ have something we agree on.”

Giles laughed, surprised. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “I’ll—see you Friday.”

Ms. Calendar nodded and turned gracefully on her heel, striding down the hall with a gorgeous confidence. It took Giles a few seconds to realize that he was staring, and another few seconds to stop smiling.

* * *

“ _What_ was that?” Buffy demanded as she entered the library.

Giles looked up from the library paperwork he was doing, surprised. “What was what?”

“You know what _what_ was!” Buffy all but shouted. “The what that happened in the where!”

Giles considered this, then said, “Buffy, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

Buffy stared at him. “Willow said you were talking with Ms. Calendar in the hallway about both of you going on an overnight trip this weekend!” she finally burst out. “Ms. _Calendar,_ Giles. That lady you’ve called every single unflattering word that isn’t profane?”

“Do you have anything against her?” Giles asked carefully.

“No, but you do!” Buffy sounded honestly shocked. “Giles, you can do whatever you want, or, um, _who_ ever you want, I guess, but I was just expecting more of a—”

Giles was _certain_ he could feel his ears going red. “Buffy, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t jump to conclusions,” he said with more sharpness than he’d intended. “Ms. Calendar’s asked me for a favor that isn’t in any way of a sexual nature, and I’m somewhat insulted that you’d inquire so flippantly about my personal life in the first place. Are we clear?”

Buffy looked abashed. “Yeah,” she said finally. “Sure. I just—you know. It wigged me out.”

“If it helps,” said Giles with some exasperation, “I don’t intend to talk to you about the people I see romantically.”

“People?” Buffy’s eyes were wide. “As in plural?”

“Are you _willfully_ misinterpreting _everything_ I say, Buffy?” said Giles, and then considered her question. “Though I certainly wouldn’t be seeing multiple people at the _same time—”_

Buffy threw up a hand. “You know what? I don’t like the direction we’re headed right now. I have to go do something away from here so that I can forget this entire conversation ever happened.”

“Right,” said Giles once she was gone, and went back to paperwork.

He wasn’t sure why he had so readily agreed to go on a mysterious trip with Ms. Calendar that he knew next to nothing about. It was true that he did owe her a favor for her help with fixing a problem he had inadvertently created, but some part of him was saying very quietly that it wasn’t _just_ that.

Well. There’d be time enough to figure out his reasoning over the weekend.

Oh, lord, he’d be spending an _entire weekend_ with a woman he’d only recently learned to tolerate. They’d managed to find a tentative peace, but how likely was it that that peace would last through two whole days spent regularly seeing each other? Giles buried his face in his hands and tried to think optimistically, but it wasn’t all that easy to do.

* * *

Jenny packed up her car in the morning and taught class with a quiet kind of excitement throughout the entire day. A little strange, since she was only now getting used to being okay with Rupert, but it then hit her that it was the whole _weekend trip_ aspect. Generally, her weekends in Sunnydale had been slow, quiet, and a little lonely, and a weekend trip out to LA with her workplace nemesis _definitely_ deviated from the norm. Even if she and Rupert ended up arguing for the entirety of the weekend, it’d still be better than spending Saturday night watching late-night TV and grading papers. (There were only so many reruns of trashy sitcoms that a person could watch before they started losing their mind, and Jenny felt like she was pretty close to her breaking point.)

Rupert showed up at her classroom door after school, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. “Shall we go, then?” he asked without preamble.

“Yeah!” Jenny grinned. At Rupert’s strange look, she checked herself. “Yep. Sorry. Just—really excited about getting those books.”

Rupert’s face softened. “I can understand that,” he said. “I’m glad I’m able to help.”

Even _without_ the added and very confusing variable that was the way Rupert Giles’s face looked when he was _actually smiling,_ Jenny wasn’t sure what to say to that. She ended up saved by the bell; Xander Harris came running down the hallway, very out of breath. “Giles!” he gasped. “Buffy said not to get you, but—wait, what’s going on?”

“Xander, I _did_ say that I would be gone for the weekend,” said Rupert with some irritation. “Buffy assured me that her extracurricular activities would be entirely under control. Did she not mention this to you?”

“She made a face and said ‘I never want to talk about Giles’s weekend plans again,’ but that was it,” said Xander, gaze darting between Rupert and Jenny. “Hold on—Giles, that’s an overnight bag. You’re with Ms. Calendar and an _overnight bag_.”

“Xander, we really have to get going,” said Jenny smoothly, placing her hand on Rupert’s elbow. Xander made a strangled noise. Rupert looked thoroughly mortified. “Rupert?” Jenny added, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Oh—um—yes,” said Rupert weakly, and let Jenny lead him out of the classroom. As soon as they were out of earshot, he added in a whisper, “You do realize what sort of conclusions Xander may be coming to right now?”

“Look, if you’re that concerned about rumors spread by a bunch of teenagers, maybe I turned to the wrong person to help me out,” said Jenny lightly. “It’s not like any of the teachers take those kinds of rumors seriously. I heard from one of my students that Ms. Simmons was madly in love with Mr. Fitzgerald, and it’s common knowledge that Ms. Simmons has a fiancé in Idaho.” At Rupert’s startled look, “Well. Common if you aren’t living under a rock, I guess.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you can be utterly intolerable at times?” said Rupert somewhat irritably.

“ _At times_ is still better than _all the time,_ ” Jenny said brightly. “Come on. I made us a mix for the drive.”

“Good lord,” said Rupert.

* * *

The first ten minutes of the drive were definitely pretty awkward. Rupert was staring out the window and biting his lip as if to hold back comments on the mix playing in the car, and Jenny felt like she should try to talk to Rupert but wasn’t sure what exactly to talk about.

“So,” she said finally. “What kind of things do you like to do?”

“Please turn off the music if you’re planning on making conversation,” said Rupert without tearing his eyes away from the window.

Jenny rolled her eyes a little. “You know, you _could_ try to be sociable,” she said. “It wouldn’t kill you.”

“Ms. Calendar,” said Rupert, still not looking at her, “due to an unexpected chain of events, we seem to have made a tentative sort of peace, but that doesn’t erase the fact that we are very different people. I don’t want to jeopardize that peace by saying something that you might find insufferably pretentious, especially since we’ll be spending the next two days together.”

“Oh,” said Jenny, and felt a startled spark of warmth. Sneaking another look at Rupert, she noticed for the first time that the rigidity in his expression looked almost… _nervous._ After taking a moment to add this information to her confusing and inconsistent database regarding How She Felt About Rupert, she turned off the music, turning her attention back to the road. “Listen, Rupert,” she said hesitantly, “I think we might be on the same page.”

“I highly doubt that,” said Rupert.

God, now that she was listening for it, he _did_ sound nervous. Jenny smiled slightly, keeping her eyes on the road. “So you don’t like me?” she said. “Because I think I might like you.”

There was a long silence in the car. Then Rupert said in a very different tone of voice, “That’s…quite surprising to hear.”

“Well, I’m a surprising lady,” Jenny said lightly.

“That you are,” said Rupert quietly. He finally looked over at her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I fear I’ve been a bit abrasive towards you. I’m simply rather nervous that—that your sudden change of opinion regarding me is only because of our shared interest in the occult.”

“I won’t deny that it’s a _little_ bit influenced by that,” said Jenny carefully, “but I also think that a guy who can get so passionate about books having _texture_ and _context_ is a guy I kind of want to get to know.”

Rupert was quiet for a moment. Then, shyly, he said, “A-as it happens, Ms. Calendar, I’d rather like to get to know you too.”

Jenny kept her eyes on the road, hoping like hell he couldn’t see the weird, badly-hidden smile on her face. Why was she _smiling_ about this one, anyway? “Cool,” she said, doing her best to sound her usual brand of nonchalant. “So I’ll ask you again: what kind of things do you like to do?”

This time, Rupert seemed to actually consider the question. “Research,” he finally said, a note of self-deprecating laughter in his voice. “Cross-referencing. Rather dry and dull sorts of things, generally.”

“You won’t hear different from me,” Jenny teased—but when Rupert’s tentative smile vanished, she felt a pinprick of guilt. _God, Janna, must you ruin_ every _interaction you have with this guy?_ Awkwardly, she tacked on, “But—you know, it makes you happy. That’s good, right?”

Rupert looked startled. “I…suppose so,” he agreed. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“What interests you?”

“Oh, god, do you really want to know that?”

“Quite badly,” said Rupert, and gave her a small, playful smile that was not at all unattractive on him.

Two could play at that game. Jenny smiled back, a languidly flirtatious little smile that made color rise to Rupert’s cheeks. “I get up to a whole lot of unprofessional stuff, Mr. Giles,” she said. “You sure you’re up for that?”

“For your information,” said Rupert, visibly flustered and visibly trying to hide it, “I-I’m up for just about anything. Are you trying to dodge the question?”

Deciding that too much teasing would probably make the poor guy spontaneously combust, Jenny let her smile transition into a genuinely thoughtful expression. _“Well,”_ she said, “you know I’m into technopaganism, so I guess I can skip _that_ part of the explanation. I’m pretty into professional sports—”

 _“Really?”_ said Rupert with surprise.

“Who _doesn’t_ love kicking back with a beer to watch the game?” said Jenny, remembered belatedly who she was talking to, and added sympathetically, “You know. Besides athletically challenged high school librarians.”

“I’ll have you know I could run _circles_ around you, Ms. Calendar,” said Rupert immediately, but—holy shit, he was _smiling._ It was still sharp and combative, obviously, but she’d _never_ seen him smile in response to one of her little jabs before. “What are you, four foot two?”

“Five foot six,” said Jenny automatically, then winced.

“Ms. Calendar, I could _use you as a basketball_.”

“You gonna buy me dinner first?”

The question threw Rupert very nicely off balance. “Well—that’s—yes,” he stammered, surprising both of them. “Yes, if it’s—”

“Oh my god, you are _too_ easy!” said Jenny with an incredulous laugh, determined to steer this conversation into the territory of sarcastic joking. (Her heart was pounding. Why was her heart pounding? This was so stupid.) “All I’ve gotta do is bat my pretty little eyelashes—” Rupert, who was blushing _furiously,_ turned the radio on again. Jenny turned it off, laughing. _“Don’t_ change the station on me now, England.”

“Hmm,” said Rupert. “I think I like that a bit better than _Snobby._ More accurate, at least.”

“Jury’s still out on _that_ one,” said Jenny.

“Oh?” Rupert quirked an eyebrow at her. “And what would convince you that I am not, in fact, _snobby?”_

Jenny considered the question. _“Well,”_ she said. “You helping me with this whole secret mission _might_ earn you a few points in my book.”

Rupert nodded. Then, a little more seriously, he said, “Would it be all right for you to explain a bit further what we’ll be doing in Los Angeles?”

“What?” It took Jenny a moment to switch out of banter mode. “Oh. Sorry. I really wasn’t very clear, was I?”

“I—I did understand that we’re on a mission to acquire some books,” Rupert began hesitantly, “and that you need my austere British demeanor so that I can get those books for you, but not much else has been made clear.”

“I mean, that’s pretty much it,” Jenny agreed with a small sigh. “It definitely doesn’t help matters that I’m—” She waved a hand. “You know.”

“That you’re…a technopagan?” said Rupert with confusion.

Jenny sighed. “That I’m a five foot tiny _woman,”_ she said. “Highbrow occult academics tend not to take me very seriously.”

“I take you seriously.”

The words met Jenny in a rush of unexpected warmth. Feeling the heat rise to her cheeks, she kept her eyes on the road. “I definitely didn’t know _that,”_ she said.

“I wouldn’t have argued with you so fervently if I _didn’t_ think you a woman of substance,” said Rupert earnestly. “I don’t waste time on people I don’t think well of.” At Jenny’s startled expression, his own blush came back with a vengeance. “That is. I—”

Jenny turned on the radio again, just to buy them both some time to cool off a little.

_And I don’t want the world to see me / ‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand—_

Jenny very hastily turned the radio off.

“I like you,” said Rupert shyly. “I suppose _that’s_ what I’m trying to say.”

Jenny had the insane urge to fling herself bodily out of the car rather than confront the sudden and unexpected feelings she was feeling. “SO, BOOKS,” she said very loudly, hoping very hard that she wasn’t blushing as much as she felt like she was blushing. “YOU READY FOR BOOKS?”

* * *

Giles had been thrown something of a curveball: the coworker he had spent the better part of the school year violently despising did not seem to exist. In her place was a shockingly confident, awkwardly compassionate, smart-as-a-whip technopagan who could effortlessly keep up with his occult anecdotes. She laughed at his joke about the Kungai demon, she told him a handful of stories about her time in the demonic underbelly of Los Angeles, and when he was actually listening to the things she had to say, he found her a _stunningly_ lovely companion. It felt thoroughly unusual to be genuinely _listening_ to Ms. Calendar, which…might have been one of the reasons she’d initially been so deliberately frustrating towards him. Damn. He should have thought that one through.

“Do you want to grab a bite before we head to the hotel?” Ms. Calendar was offering. She’d dug out a pair of horribly garish sunglasses from the glove compartment and was now wearing them cheerfully. Really, Giles thought, the sunglasses only added to the very American feel of the situation; two hours was considered quite a long car ride across the pond. “I’m a little hungry, but I can wait if you want some alone time at the hotel first.”

Less than a week ago, Giles would have expected that last sentence to be followed by a playfully biting statement about his lack of a social life. After a surprisingly pleasant two hours, however, he was too busy thinking about how nice it would be to have dinner with Ms. Calendar. “Thank you for considering that,” he said shyly. “I don’t mind stopping for food at all if it’s what you’d like.”

Ms. Calendar turned to study him. Her eyes weren’t visible behind the sunglasses, but there was a small, surprised smile on her face. “You know, you’re really sweet,” she said.

“Do please keep your eyes on the road, Ms. Calendar,” said Giles anxiously, not really registering her compliment until she’d turned back to the right position. When he did, he very much hoped that Ms. Calendar’s sunglasses would make it difficult for her to see his blush. “And. Thank you.”

“Sure.” Ms. Calendar was still smiling.

“You’re—the—if—”

“You don’t have to compliment me back.” Ms. Calendar’s smile was a bit more playful. “I know that kind of thing is hard for you.”

Giles felt a strange mixture of gratitude and exasperation. “It’s really quite difficult to ascertain when you’re being sarcastic.”

Ms. Calendar made a face. “Yeah, sometimes I can’t tell either,” she agreed.

They drove in silence, for a while. Generally, silences between Giles and Ms. Calendar were resentful things, mostly borne of long arguments that had gone mostly nowhere. It felt very nice to have a silence that had come about simply because neither of them had anything they needed to say.

When the diner was visible, Ms. Calendar said, "Is this gonna be okay with you? You seem like more of a high-end type."

Giles smiled a bit, amused by Ms. Calendar’s unusual display of tact. "That sounds rather like I'm still a snob in your book."

Ms. Calendar laughed and pushed her sunglasses up, turning her head to smile at Giles. At his semi-panicked gesture towards the road, she looked back in front of her with a small scoff. "Okay, first of all, Snobby, there's no traffic—"

"You calling me Snobby isn't at all disproving my point, Ms. Calendar."

"What I'm trying to get at is that I think you're starting to make 'snob' a good thing," said Ms. Calendar. Her eyes were still on the road, almost pointedly so. "You're discerning. Granted, sometimes you're stubborn about being discerning, but—you know. So am I.”

This was surprisingly poignant coming from Ms. Calendar. Warmed, Giles said, “I’m flattered to hear _you_ think so highly of _me.”_

"Good." Ms. Calendar pulled into the parking lot. "But you still didn't really answer my question."

"My answer, then, would be that this is perfectly fine," said Giles truthfully. He’d visited much worse establishments in his youth, after all.

Ms. Calendar raised an eyebrow, sneaking another look at him; she could clearly tell that he wasn’t stretching the truth. “You contain multitudes,” she said finally, parking the car in a spot right in front of the diner. "It's kinda hot out here. I hope you're okay with that."

Giles was decidedly not okay with the heat, but he was beginning to find himself more and more okay with the company of Ms. Calendar. The fact that he'd managed to find another adult who he could at least tolerate in Sunnydale was something worth braving the California heat for. "I'll manage," he said truthfully.

Looking pleased with this, Ms. Calendar got out of the car, crossing around to open the door for him. "C'mon," she said. "I'm going to order you something horrible and greasy."

"Oh, _no—"_

"I'm paying. You're not allowed to complain."

"I'm not so in need of a free lunch that I'll just eat anything—"

"How about if you order _my_ meal?"

This was actually a surprisingly attractive idea, one that appealed to both Giles's slightly petty desire to get even with Ms. Calendar for whatever horrible diner food she might inflict on him and Giles's genuine interest in finding out where Ms. Calendar’s tastes lay. (That phrase could be taken in quite a few different ways. Concerningly, he suspected he meant all of them.)

"I'll think about it," he said, mostly because he was rather enjoying the feeling of bantering with Ms. Calendar when she didn't actively despise him. "Perhaps. Maybe. Possibly."

"God, you're unbearable." Ms. Calendar extended a hand to Giles, pulling him up and out of the car.

Both of them, however, had inconveniently forgotten two important facts: that Ms. Calendar was much smaller than Giles, and that Giles had extremely dubious coordination when not in a combat situation. So when she pulled him, he followed, colliding with her in such a way that might have knocked them _both_ to the pavement had she not braced her hands against his chest. The maneuver put them momentarily in very close proximity.

“Oh—” said Ms. Calendar, going rather pink.

“Hello,” said Giles, and instantly wished he had said _anything_ less banal.

To his surprise, Ms. Calendar responded to this by _smiling_ at him, sweet and genuine in a way he’d never seen on her face before. Stepping carefully away from him, she leaned around him to shut and lock the car door. "So! You ready for some top-notch greasy spoon diner food?" she said, still blushing slightly.

Giles wished, then, that he could tap into some of the brazen charm of his Ripper days—but Ms. Calendar, despite her own playful nature, still seemed rather guarded. He got the sense that she wouldn’t take kindly to any overt romantic advances, and he didn't want to make her in any way uncomfortable when she was being so warm and friendly to him. Putting aside the notion of suave charm, he smiled shyly instead, and was again surprised to notice the returning warmth in Ms. Calendar’s grin. "Right," he said. "Lead on, then."

The diner was practically deserted, save for a small group of college students who looked to be on a similar weekend road trip. With his three-piece suit and tweed jacket, Giles suddenly felt very much out of place among the casually dressed Americans and horrible fifties movie posters.

But Ms. Calendar squeezed his elbow reassuringly, tugging him almost gently to a booth. She inclined her head to a waitress, saying brightly, "Table for two," and sat Giles down before crossing to the other side of the booth and sitting down herself. "Well," she said. "Don't _you_ look comfortable."

"Good lord," said Giles sardonically. “You might actually be a bit funny. I'd never have guessed." Ms. Calendar snickered—a giggly, nasal sound that elicited an actual smile from Giles before he even really realized it. _“Are_ you going to order me something utterly terrible?”

“Rupert, Rupert, Rupert,” said Ms. Calendar. “You know me.”

“…I’m beginning to think I don’t know you as well as I should,” said Giles, a mixture of wary and appreciative.

Ms. Calendar’s smile grew. “Then I get the sense you know me better than you think.”

“So with regards to food—”

“I’m just gonna ask them to bring you the deep fryer.”

“As in French fries?”

“As in the _deep fryer._ The grease _is_ your meal.”

“How charmingly American,” said Giles dryly, which earned him that sweet, ridiculous sound from Ms. Calendar again. He couldn’t help but grin a bit in return.

* * *

For all her talk about ordering something awful for Rupert, Jenny eventually just gave in and got him a burger, garlic fries, and a milkshake—mostly because she figured he'd never actually try anything like that himself without her help. To her surprise, Rupert very cheerfully acquiesced in a way that didn’t really fit with her image of “stuffed-shirt old-money Englishman,” though he didn’t seem as interested in the milkshake as he was the burger and fries.

Rupert ordered Jenny a quinoa salad.

"No," said Jenny. “ _No_. That is not fair. I ordered you something normal and American—"

"Horrible," said Rupert.

"—and you order me a _quinoa salad?_ Who the hell gets a _quinoa salad_ at a diner? I didn't even know they _made_ quinoa salads at this diner. Or at _any_ diner."

"Now you're just being melodramatic," said Rupert, dipping one of his fries in mayonnaise.

"Oh my god," said Jenny. "No. You eat fries with ketchup. If you're having the American diner experience, you eat fries the American diner way."

"I like mayonnaise," said Rupert with a lot of dignity for a guy who was eating fries the wrong way. "And besides which, the deal was only that we order each other's meals. The deal didn't extend to how we chose to eat our meals."

"Okay," Jenny agreed. "You want to play it that way? Cool by me." She picked up the ketchup bottle and proceeded to douse her quinoa salad with what was probably an incredibly unhealthy amount of ketchup.

 _"No,"_ said Rupert very loudly. The college kids at the other table gave them a weird look.

Jenny took a bite. This was absolutely a mistake. Swallowing her dignity (and a concerning amount of ketchup), she inquired, "You enjoying your fries?"

"Quite," said Rupert—and damn it, she could _tell_ that he still was. "And I assume you like your salad?"

"Oh, totally," said Jenny as seriously as she could. She refused to admit that she’d lost this round.

They ended up having a talk in the diner that was somehow even _more_ fun than their talk in the car. Rupert had all these different stories about artifacts he'd hunted down and quests he'd gone on ("that's so medieval-sounding," Jenny teased him), and he told them like he was a professor giving a lecture, which was kind of hysterically funny. The college kids shot them a lot of weird looks before finally deciding to leave, and Rupert caught sight of this and said, deadpan, "I suppose they just can't handle the truth," which made Jenny laugh so hard that she knocked over Rupert's milkshake. He didn’t seem to mind _too_ much.

As Jenny was finishing up the last of her salad (aided by Rupert, who had finished his burger and was stabbing tentatively at the less ketchup-covered parts of Jenny's plate with his fork), a new group entered the diner.

"Table for one," rasped a voice.

Rupert looked up, the cheerful smile on his face fading a bit. Without a word, he slid out of his seat and into Jenny's side of the booth, blocking her from whatever had just entered the diner.

"Sure, hon, but we close in an hour—" began one of the waitresses, and then screamed.

"Seriously?" said Jenny, trying to see what was going on over Rupert's shoulder. "Look, I appreciate the chivalry, but I'm able to take care of myself." Rupert was completely ignoring her. Throwing caution (and dignity) to the wind, Jenny climbed up on top of the booth.

A vampire, holding the waitress by the throat, gave her a toothy smile.

"Oh, _yikes,”_ said Jenny, and lost her balance, falling sideways onto Rupert. Rupert, who hadn't been expecting this, was knocked out of his seat and onto the ground, Jenny falling directly on top of him.

Rupert gave her a _very_ irritated look.

The vampire (because apparently this was the way Jenny's relaxing non-supernatural vacation was going) let go of the sobbing waitress and looked at Jenny and Rupert with interest. "Now here's a few appetizers I find a bit more appealing," he informed the waitress. "What if I take these two to go?"

"See?" said Rupert. _"This_ is why you don't start _pushing me_ when I'm trying to _protect you."_

"Okay, first of all, this is a very bad time to start an argument," Jenny informed him, trying to pull herself up. Rupert wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back down. "Second, if you don't let go of me right now, I'm going to reach over and stab you with a soup spoon."

"Yes," said Rupert. "Stab _me_. Not the _actual_ vampire that seems to want to _eat_ us. Certainly an utterly infallible plan you’ve come up with."

"You two going to argue all day?" said the vampire loudly. "Still right here. Still very much planning on dragging you both out of this diner."

Jenny tried to pull herself out of Rupert's arms, but he stood up, holding her close to him. "This is _my_ terrible colleague," he informed the vampire, "and I shall die myself before I let you hurt her."

 _Why was Rupert’s weird brand of chivalry turning her on. Why was it doing that._ Hastily, Jenny searched for a witty quip to distract herself from the fact that she fit _really nicely_ against Rupert’s larger frame. What came out was, “Is that—do you wear cologne?”

The question seemed to take Rupert aback. “What? Yes, a bit. Is it strong?”

“No, it’s—no,” said Jenny hastily. “It’s…nice.”

Rupert blinked, then grinned—a sweet lightning-flash of a smile—as though he was able to read between the lines. He was probably good at that, Jenny thought, looking up into his green eyes and noticing the star in one of them for (she realized this with a jolt) the _fifth_ time since knowing him. “I’m glad it’s not _too_ bothersome,” he said, in a way that suggested that he wasn’t talking about the cologne either.

“Not even close,” said Jenny, and smiled back.

The vampire was watching them both with a vaguely unnerved expression. "I'm going to _kill_ you both," it said very loudly, as if trying to remind Rupert and Jenny that it was still there.

“Yeah, cool, just a second,” said Jenny absently.

Rupert gave Jenny a disbelieving look. Wrapping his arm more securely around her waist (Jenny’s brain shorted out as she was pulled flush against his chest), he picked up a handful of his leftover fries and threw them at the vampire.

As if a bomb had exploded, the vampire _flew_ through the air, knocked off its feet and through a nearby glass window. Rupert pulled Jenny tighter against him; she hid her face in his chest until he abruptly let go of her. She heard an angry roar from outside—and then it was abruptly cut off.

Jenny pulled her head up to see the vampire, a stake embedded in its chest, dissolve into dust.

“My aim _has_ improved,” said Rupert with satisfaction.

Jenny stared. “You…did you just throw that?”

“It was about five feet,” said Rupert dismissively.

“You just—oh my god,” said Jenny weakly. “You—that—”

Rupert gave her a strangely apologetic smile, then said, “Ms. Calendar, _don’t_ make this more than it has to be. I may be somewhat skilled when it comes to combat, but I’m still…” He trailed off. “Still the same person you know. Mostly.”

 _“Mostly,”_ Jenny echoed.

Rupert hesitated. “We will perhaps have to have a conversation later regarding some of my…extracurricular responsibilities.”

“Oh, _clearly,”_ said Jenny, scanning the restaurant to take in the scene. The window was shattered, the customers huddled together in various booths, and the waitress was still crying in the corner. “Should we go? We should go. Ma’am, do you—how much should we tip you?”

“At a time like this, you’re thinking about _tips,”_ said Rupert disbelievingly.

“Am I supposed to _not_ tip? This wasn’t the _diner’s_ fault—”

“No, I just—” Rupert smiled a little. “You are a shockingly decent person.”

“Gosh, I bet you say that to all the girls,” said Jenny, already digging in her pocket for her wallet. Shoving a handful of twenties in the waitress’s general direction, she said awkwardly, “Um. Keep the change?” and let Rupert lead her out of the restaurant.

Though the vampire had long since dusted, Jenny could still see a pretty significant dent in the hood of her car where it must have landed. She winced a little, running her hand over the place of impact. “Sorry, baby,” she whispered. “I’ll fix you up in no time—”

“I’ll pay.”

Jenny blinked, turning around. “What?”

Rupert gave her a sweet, shy smile. “Well, you paid for dinner, didn’t you?” he said. “I can certainly cover any car repairs needed due to my impulsive garlic-fry-tossing maneuver.”

“Rupert—”

 _“Ms._ Calendar,” said Rupert firmly, “I would feel _quite_ put-out if you refuse to let me _help.”_

“You saved my _life_ and you want to pay for my _car_ to get fixed?” said Jenny, who was beginning to see Rupert in a _very_ new light. And she wasn’t just talking about the dim, warm glow from the streetlights—though they did cast his face in gorgeous half-shadow, highlighting his strong profile and _oh my god focus._ “That’s—you’re—”

Rupert blinked, then blushed, looking a little sheepish. “If it’s too much—”

“It’s not _too much,_ it’s just—” Jenny cast around desperately for words. Her brain was not helping her in the slightest. _Keep it professional, Janna, you don’t want to fuck up the only friendship you have on staff. Keep it professional even though he is somehow REALLY HOT and you NEVER REALIZED oh my GOD this isn’t working._ “You didn’t say—” Was she _stammering?_ “You just, I don’t know, I never really realized that you were so—”

She saw the spark of understanding in Rupert’s eyes a moment before a blush rose to his face. _“So?”_

“Jesus. Don’t make me say it.”

“No, I think I’d rather like to.”

 _“I_ think,” said Jenny, “that we should _get going_ before another vampire tries to _eat us.”_

“Jenny—”

“Are you or are you not running seriously low on garlic fries?”

“Don’t think I don’t notice your graceless attempts at deflection,” Rupert informed her, but he was grinning a little as he got into the car.

* * *

The ride to the hotel was only about fifteen minutes, but they were somehow the longest and most agonizing minutes of Giles’s _life._ He kept on thinking about Ms. Calendar’s bright eyes locked on his, her adorably, sincerely awkward grin right after he startled her into a laugh—and the all but dazed look on her face after he’d killed that vampire in front of her. Moments like that, Giles thought, were moments that you daydreamed about happening but never really _did,_ and the absurdity of the situation made him want to bite back a giggle. His workplace nemesis was clearly nursing a ridiculous crush on him after he’d saved her life, she had been clearly thrown off by how incorrect her initial perception of him had been—

—except the ridiculous daydream ended there, because if Giles had imagined this a month or so ago, he’d have imagined himself curtly-but-politely turning Ms. Calendar down and shattering the lump of black coal that was her heart. But _this_ Giles knew that Ms. Calendar had a heart softer than she cared to admit, and that she was sweet and funny and smart and _wonderful,_ and that turning her down if he was lucky enough to have her attention was something that only a _complete_ idiot would do. (He included himself in that number. Ms. Calendar wasn’t the only one whose perception had been wholly flawed.)

As Ms. Calendar pulled into the hotel, she turned a little to look at him. Tentatively, she said, "I, uh, didn't actually think you were going to agree to come, so we—we don’t have any _actual_ reservations at this place.”

This made sense. Were their situations reversed, Giles certainly wouldn't have wanted to invest in a potential future reminder of exactly how little Ms. Calendar wanted to spend time with him. "That's all right," he said. "Worst case scenario, we'll just sleep in your car."

"Oh, god, don't even joke about that." Ms. Calendar unlocked the trunk, handing Giles his duffel bag before awkwardly digging out her own suitcase. Giles shut the trunk as she hurried over to lock the car. "We should get inside, right? What are the chances of vampires being out here?"

"About as good as the chances of a random vampire wandering into a rest stop diner," Giles answered.

 _“Not_ helpful, Rupert.”

“Not untrue, Ms. Calendar,” countered Giles.

Ms. Calendar stopped in her tracks, turning around to look at him with a strange expression on her face. “Do you have to do that?” she said.

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean—” Ms. Calendar ducked her head, smiling nervously. “You saved my life, right? _And_ we cast out that demon in the Internet together. Formalities seem a little weird at this point.”

Slowly, Giles realized that his status as chivalrous hero might be rather short-lived. With some difficulty, he said, “Ms. Calendar—”

“Jenny,” said Ms. Calendar.

“Jenny,” said Giles with relief. “Yes. That—thank god. Yes.”

Jenny Calendar blinked, cocking her head at him; Giles could practically _see_ the wheels turning in her head. When her eyes lit up, he winced—and when she let out an incredulous laugh, he _knew_ she’d figured him out. “Oh my god,” she said. “Rupert, oh my _god—”_

“Ms. Cal—ah, Jenny, _please_ don’t—”

“You’ve been calling me _Ms. Calendar_ this entire time because you _forgot my first name?”_

“That’s—” Giles buried his face in his hands with a groan. Weakly, he said, “I am truly very sorry.”

“You _are?”_

Giles raised his head. Jenny was still smiling at him, but twisted into the amusement was a warm affection. “I-I am,” he said, fumbling a little as he smiled back. “I—Jenny, it’s, it’s a lovely name. Worth remembering.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I’ll do my best to keep it in mind this time around.”

“There’s that song, you know,” said Jenny conversationally, beginning to walk towards the hotel again. Giles followed suit, opening the door for her as they entered the lobby. “You know, Tommy Tutone? Everyone used to sing it to me in high school. _Jenny, Jenny, who can I turn to—”_

Giles grinned, then whistled the next bar.

“You _do_ know it!” Jenny laughed, shoving his shoulder. “I can _not_ be the only one singing here—”

Someone coughed, startling Giles and Jenny apart. As Giles looked around the empty lobby, his eyes landed on a bored-looking girl in her mid-twenties standing behind the front desk. “You guys know there’s only, like, one room left, right?” she said. “Might wanna jump on that before someone else snaps it up.”

Giles felt the smile slide off his face. “One room left?”

“Motherfucker, I knew I should have made reservations,” Jenny muttered to herself. Hurrying up to the front desk, she asked the girl, “That room of yours—two beds?”

“One,” said the girl.

“I am a goddamn disaster of a person,” said Jenny to Giles, “and this is absolutely my fault, and I _will_ take the couch. Do not even attempt to fight me on that one.”

“I’d never,” said Giles. “Whatever makes you feel most comfortable—”

“No, this is—I wouldn’t want to upset your antiquated British sensibilities—”

“Jenny, be honest with me. Do you know _anything_ about England?”

“If you guys are _done,”_ said the girl pointedly, “that room is _still_ open, but someone just pulled into the parking lot outside.”

“Shit,” said Jenny, moving past Giles to begin negotiations with the girl.

Left to his own devices, Giles found himself noticing the fact that he felt…different than usual. It was harder to think about the harsh, horrible realities of his daily life when his daily life rather abruptly included someone who made him laugh, and listened to his ridiculous anecdotes, and made him feel like he was _important_ for more than what he could give to some greater cause. It was hard to feel like a Watcher when his current problems were…silly, and sweet, and all centered around what would and wouldn’t make Jenny Calendar beam up at him and step just a little bit closer.

As if on cue, Jenny turned around, that new and wonderful smile on her face. “One bed, _but_ she says there _might_ be a couch!” she said brightly. “So that’s _that_ solved.”

* * *

There was no couch.

“Does that count as false advertising?” said Jenny, nudging her suitcase towards the foot of the bed before sitting down herself. “Or does the fact that she said it _might_ have a couch keep this hotel from being liable?”

“Are you planning to _sue_ the hotel?” said Rupert, who looked a lot less bothered than Jenny was expecting him to be. Then again, though, she’d expected a _lot_ of things about the way this trip was going to go, and absolutely _none_ of them had ended up like this. “I don’t really think that a lack of a couch is solid grounds for a legal case, Ms—Jenny.”

Jenny smiled at her lap. “If you like _Ms. Calendar_ better—”

She felt the bed give a little as Rupert sat down next to her. “No, I like your name,” he said. “All aspects of it.” He hesitated. “I like—a lot of things about you. As it happens.”

Heart pounding, Jenny’s eyes met his—and as she turned to face him, her knees nudged his. She thought she heard Rupert’s breath catch. “Oh yeah?”

“Y-yes.” Rupert looked just as nervous as she felt—though she had a feeling she was doing a better job of hiding it. “I—”

“Care to elaborate on that?”

“I—” Rupert drew in a shuddering breath. “Should take a shower.”

Jenny felt her smile falter a little. Had she come on too strong? Carefully, she moved back a little to give him room to get up. “Yeah, of course—”

Rupert didn’t move. His eyes were fixed on hers with a kind of terrified intensity—like he knew what he wanted, but didn’t know how to say it. “I really should go,” he said, barely a whisper, and continued to stay exactly where he was.

The nervousness returned, but it seemed more anticipatory than self-conscious. Jenny bit her lip, watching his eyes follow the motion—and got up herself, brushing a hand casually against his shoulder as she moved towards their bags. “I can unpack while you take that shower,” she said, keeping her gaze locked on his.

Rupert managed a wobbly nod. “Mm,” he said, clearly well past the point of verbal coherence.

“And then—I mean,” Jenny gestured towards the bed. “There really is only one bed, right? I’m not sleeping on the floor. I don’t think you should have to either.”

“Quite,” said Rupert.

“We’re adults. It doesn’t have to be weird.”

“Hm.”

Jenny turned away from Rupert before he could see her smiling, kneeling down on the floor to begin unzipping her suitcase. By the time she’d finally found her pajamas, Rupert had already disappeared into the bathroom. She changed as quickly as she could, combed out her hair, fluffed it a little to make it look just a _touch_ prettier, and lay down exactly in the middle of the bed, taking up as much space as humanly possible. Reclining against the pillows, she heard the bathroom door open, and sat up in bed—

“Jenny,” said Rupert, rounding the corner with nothing but a fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist, “please be reassured that this is far more mortifying for me than for you, but _can_ you pass me my duffel bag? I—” And then he stopped, taking another look at Jenny. “For Christ’s sake,” he said. “Leave _some_ space on the bed for me, won’t you?”

Jenny had only ever seen Rupert in scratchy tweed and weirdly lumpy sweater vests, and had _not_ really ever given much consideration to the body that the aforementioned tweed and sweater vests were most likely hiding. It wasn’t like he had some kind of secret six-pack or anything, but he was…solid. Strong. Built like the kind of guy that could scoop you up and throw you to the bed without breaking a sweat, except with the kind of temperament that suggested he’d _much_ prefer it if she was the one taking charge. Up until literally right now, Jenny had had no idea that there even _was_ a mental checklist her brain pulled up when looking at a hot guy—let alone that Rupert Giles somehow managed to check _all the boxes._ What the _fuck._

“…Jenny?” said Rupert, and then tilted his head a little and _smirked._

 _That_ cut through Jenny’s haze. “Holy shit,” she realized aloud. “Is this _payback?”_

“I’m sure I have _no_ idea what you’re talking about,” said Rupert, his smirk widening. “Really, I only came out to ask about my clothing—”

No fucking way was Jenny going to let him win this one. “You know what?” she said, and pulled her t-shirt up and over her head, throwing it in Rupert’s general direction. It missed. Rupert’s jaw _dropped,_ which was an _extremely_ satisfying reaction to elicit from a guy when you were technically still wearing your bra. “Here. Borrow _my_ shirt.”

“Th-that _won’t_ fit—” stammered Rupert, his blush spreading to his chest.

“You don’t know till you try, right?” Jenny arched her back in a dramatic stretch, drawing Rupert’s eyes to her chest. “C’mon, England, we’re _adults—”_

 _“Clearly_ you’re still not quite past childish tactics when it comes to _making a point.”_

“And what exactly is the _point_ you think I’m trying to make?” said Jenny, leaning back against the pillows to lock her eyes with his.

Rupert faltered. Stuttering, “I—you—the— _well!”_ he snagged his duffel bag from the floor, holding it protectively to his chest as he made a speedy retreat back into the bathroom.

“You still have my shirt!” Jenny called after him, grinning triumphantly when her only response was a pointedly slammed door. _Calendar one, Giles zero,_ she thought to herself with satisfaction, clambering up and off the bed to retrieve her shirt from where it had fallen by the bathroom door.

Just as she was about to tug it over her head, Rupert opened the door, stepping out of the bathroom and neatly colliding with her in a way that knocked her against the wall. He blinked, but didn’t step away; instead, he reached for Jenny’s shirt, helping her put it on. “Many apologies,” he said lightly. “You know coordination isn’t exactly my strongest suit.”

 _“Sure,”_ said Jenny, grinning up at him. “You just about ready to bunk down for the night?”

“Just about, yes,” said Rupert. He had taken off his glasses in the bathroom, and was now wearing a soft-looking blue sweater with striped pajama bottoms. His hair, still a little damp from the shower, stuck up adorably in a way that made Jenny want to smooth it down—and, on an impulse, she stood on tiptoe and did exactly that.

Rupert’s eyes widened, but he stayed obligingly still, his soft blush returning as he looked down at her. Unable to hold back the sudden and unexpected flood of unusually tender emotion, Jenny blurted out, “Okay! I’ll just—” and tugged her hands hastily free, hurrying over to lie down in the middle of the bed.

 _“Really,”_ said Rupert as he moved to turn off the lights, and edged himself onto the bed next to her, taking up a comically minimal amount of space in an effort to place a respectful amount of distance between them.

Noticing that he was a hair away from actually falling off the bed, Jenny relented, moving over to make space for him. As he rolled over onto his side to get himself situated, she rolled over to face him. “So _this_ is a real high school experience, huh?” she said.

“I’m…sorry?”

“You know.” Jenny grinned. “Slumber party.”

“Oh, of course,” said Rupert very seriously. “I think my favorite part was when you quite literally _threw_ your clothing at me. I’m sure that’ll make a _charming_ anecdote at Monday’s faculty meeting.”

“You _wouldn’t!”_ Jenny gasped, laughing.

“I rather think I would, _Jenny,_ especially considering how _thoroughly_ underhanded that move was—”

“You’re talking about this like it’s _chess!”_

“As though you’re not the most _shockingly_ competitive person I’ve met,” said Rupert, a note of warm laughter in his voice as he moved just the slightest bit closer.

At their close proximity, Jenny felt the traitorous _buzz_ of attraction and anticipation. She wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them, but this just felt too damn important for her to fuck up so early on. She _liked_ Rupert. She liked talking to him, liked being around him, liked more things about him than she’d _ever_ expected—but Rupert Giles was the kind of man who needed slow and gentle handling. She didn’t want to push him into something he wasn’t ready for.

“So,” she said quickly, trying to steer the conversation in a vaguely platonic direction. “If this is a sleepover, we’ve _gotta_ play some kind of dumb sleepover game. Twenty Questions? Would You Rather? Truth or Dare?”

“Truth or…” Rupert sounded somewhat confused.

“It’s pretty much exactly what it sounds like, Rupert,” said Jenny patiently. “You pick one, and I either ask you a question or dare you to do something.”

Rupert considered this for a weirdly long time.

“Truth or dare?” Jenny clarified.

After at least _thirty-seven seconds_ (a disbelieving and slightly bored Jenny eventually started _counting),_ Rupert said, “Dare.”

This was not at all what Jenny had been expecting. “You know truth might be _easier,_ right?”

Rupert hesitated. “Not for me,” he said.

A strange, half-hidden emotion revealed itself to Jenny at his admission. Unable to express the weird, overwhelming feeling in her chest, she moved forward, settling herself instinctively against his chest before fully realizing what she was doing. Just as their sudden proximity fully registered with Jenny—and just as she was gearing up to pull away—she felt Rupert’s arms come up to tug her fully into a tentative hug, pulling her up just a little so that she could rest her cheek against his shoulder.

She could feel his heart pounding. Terrified that the moment would shatter at any second, Jenny closed her eyes, tucking her face into the crook of his neck and focusing on the sound of his unsteady breathing. One of his hands was resting delicately at the small of her back, fingers splayed against the fabric of her shirt.

“Not for _me,_ either,” she said, almost too quietly for him to hear—and let herself drift off to sleep.

* * *

Giles woke up early—as he always did—but was not jolted into wakefulness by his frustratingly loud alarm clock. This time, he woke up feeling drowsy in a way that felt suspiciously like relaxation, a warm, cuddly weight settled comfortably in his arms. As he blinked a few times, blearily surprised by the first good night’s sleep he’d had since arriving in Sunnydale, more of the situation made itself clear to him: he was in a hotel bedroom, he was bereft of absolutely _all_ of the blankets, and said blankets were wrapped around the small, soft woman who had wrapped herself just as snugly around _him._

Jenny’s hair was tangled, dark locks falling across her cheek to hide most of her face, but he could see her still-closed eyes; her hands tightly gripped the front of his shirt in a way that seemed to contrast with her otherwise effortlessly tranquil slumber. Giles was struck with the impulse to move away for propriety’s sake, but his body betrayed him: he instead gathered her just a little bit closer, closing his own eyes again to give himself plausible deniability, and hoped that his suddenly-pounding heart wouldn’t wake her up and cause her to regret their close proximity.

This was something of a mistake. Giles’s attempt to embrace Jenny further jostled her enough that he felt her stir against him. He heard her intake of breath, felt _certain_ that she would demand he move a respectful and professional distance away—and instead felt her sigh a little and—impossibly—move _closer._

Giles was then struck with an extremely unfortunate problem. Jenny was very clearly awake _and_ had very clearly decided to play at slumber in the same way that he himself was doing now—most likely in an attempt to prolong their current situation. He had assumed that, when she was awake, she would place a respectful and businesslike distance between them, but this was evidently not the case. The situation would of course be solved if he bit the bullet, opened his eyes, and carefully untangled himself from her, but…

But the fact was that Giles hadn’t been this close to anyone in _years._ Not for this long. He’d had casual sex, of course, but that sort of thing didn’t really warrant cuddling and pillow talk after the deed was done. The concept of pulling away from the first prolonged physical contact he’d had since at _least_ his late twenties was positively unthinkable. He just _couldn’t._

Jenny let out a soft breath. He could feel her hands loosening a little on his shirt, but they didn’t pull away: rather, they rested flat against his chest in a strangely comforting sort of way. “Rupert?” she mumbled softly.

A sudden and equally terrifying possibility occurred to Giles: if he admitted he was awake, Jenny _might not move away._ Slowly and a little warily, he opened his eyes, staying exactly where he was.

As though this was second nature to Jenny, she nestled her face in the crook of his neck, her lips awkwardly brushing his skin in a way that clearly wasn’t intentional but sent a shiver down Giles’s spine nonetheless. With a sleepy sigh, she threw an arm across his stomach, then said, “Room service?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you get us room service? I’ll pay for half, I just—” Jenny yawned. “Just don’t wanna _move.”_

Giles couldn’t help himself from grinning a little at that. “Doesn’t the early bird catch the worm?”

“More like the late Jenny catches a few extra Z’s,” said Jenny.

“I do hate to break it to you, Jenny, but you’re lying on me.”

“So?”

 _“So,”_ said Giles, gently tucking Jenny’s hair behind her ear, “I can’t reach the phone if I’m acting as your personal pillow.”

“You’re a smarty mister…smart guy,” Jenny informed him, her fingers pressing into the curve of his hip. “Work it out.”

After a few minutes of consideration, Giles carefully made sure that Jenny was settled securely in his arms, then sat up. Jenny made a small, indignant noise of protest, but he ignored it, leaning over to pick up the phone from the bedside table and awkwardly dial room service. “Do you know what you want?”

“I didn’t think you were actually gonna _do it!”_ said Jenny. “Lie back down, Rupert, it is _too_ early for me to be awake—”

“It’s light out,” Giles countered. “All things considered, I slept in.”

“You are a _nightmare man!”_

“I’ll let go of you, if you like! You can lie back down and—”

 _“No!”_ said Jenny hotly, cuddling further into his arms. Giles’s heart flipped over and he was quite genuinely convinced that he might spontaneously combust. “I want pancakes,” Jenny added. _“Lots_ of them.”

By some miracle, Giles managed to retain this information long enough to order room service.

* * *

It was _unbearably_ hot outside, even worse than Sunnydale. "It's because we're closer to the Equator," Jenny explained, and refused to listen to Giles when he tried to explain how little sense that made from a geographical standpoint. She didn't seem to mind the heat, though, even with her dark coat buttoned neatly over her dress.

“Do you know,” said Giles, “quite a lot of my colleagues at the British Museum dressed like that? Granted, it was _much_ colder in England, which makes me wonder how on earth you haven’t passed out from heat exhaustion just yet.”

“I’m a rough-and-tumble kinda girl,” said Jenny, and winked.

“Does that _really_ apply to _heat exhaustion?_ That coat looks like _tweed.”_

“It _is_ tweed! Thanks for noticing!” Jenny twirled in the coat, the skirt of her dress flaring out a little in a way that revealed her rather nice legs. (Giles did not notice this at all.) “I’m really just kinda trying to make sure I get taken seriously, even if I _am_ just pretty much your arm candy.”

Giles choked. “I _beg_ your pardon?”

“I know,” said Jenny very seriously. “Kind of unbelievable, isn’t it?”

“You’re certainly not _arm candy,_ Jenny,” said Giles, and immediately realized that he had made a mistake when a flicker of hurt crossed Jenny’s face. “I only mean—well, you’re simply not the sort of woman who would—”

Jenny arched an eyebrow. “Who would what?”

Fortunately for Giles, he knew exactly what he wanted to say. Unfortunately for Giles, the fact that he had accidentally implied he thought Jenny unattractive after a stunningly successful night of flirtation was such a distressing notion that he had lost all ability to speak coherently. “If—the—that is, when you—”

Jenny pressed her lips together, looking down at the ground—and a giggle bubbled up and out of her. _“Rupert,”_ she said. “Do you ever _not_ put your foot in your mouth?”

The surprised relief that he _hadn’t_ irreparably wrecked things between him and Jenny was enough to push the complete and honest truth out of Giles. _All_ of it. “You’re just too intelligent and gorgeous to be _arm candy,”_ he said without thinking. “No one would find it believable that a man like me could pull a woman as accomplished and delightful as yourself.”

Jenny’s amused grin flickered. Her eyes were very wide.

Deciding that he _really_ didn’t want to dwell on what he had just admitted, Giles moved rapidly past Jenny—and she caught his arm. “Jenny, I _am_ sorry,” he began. “That was—unthinkably rude of me, I—”

“Oh my god, look at the time!” said Jenny very loudly, and dashed around the car to all but fling herself into the driver’s seat. A little bemused, Giles followed suit, listening with no small amount of confusion as she began to talk _rapid-fire._ “We’re going to be _so_ late to the Order of the Peryton’s secret library opening, they’re only open to new visitors for like an _hour_ and they pretty much only accept walk-ins if the walk-ins are _men,_ and I have to run you through the list of books I need, I think it’s in the glove compartment, why don’t you check in the glove compartment? Let’s check in the glove compartment.”

This was not at all the collected, composed computer science teacher that Giles had become both familiar with and fond of. “Jenny—”

Jenny _slammed_ the gas, very nearly rear-ending a nearby building. “HAHA WHOOPS,” she said very loudly, all but tearing out of the parking lot.

* * *

The only thing keeping Jenny from full-blown panic was the fact that she had to keep an eye on the speedometer, because she was pretty much one mile away from a speeding ticket. But she couldn’t stop flooring the gas, because the speed of the car and the general feeling of flying down the highway was really helping her not think about what Rupert had just said. That she was _intelligent._ That she was _gorgeous._ That she was _out of his league._

It had been fun, cute, and altogether a total ego boost to have sexy, flirty banter with her workplace nemesis with no intention of actually following through. It had been a relief to repeatedly remind herself that Rupert almost definitely wouldn’t be interested in something long-term and serious, and would probably be completely scared off if Jenny actually followed through on any of her advances. It had been a _hypothetical_ that Rupert would be interested in _pulling_ her, that Rupert thought she was someone worth being around—

“Jenny,” said Rupert in a strangled tone of voice, “though I do appreciate your dedication to getting us to the Order of the Peryton in a timely manner, I would also greatly appreciate it if you perhaps did _not_ drive fast enough to kill us both before we make it there.”

“SURE THING, FRIEND. ABSOLUTELY,” said Jenny, who no longer had the ability to regulate her volume, and pulled her foot off the gas enough to place her at two miles away from a speeding ticket.

“I’m not entirely sure if that’s—”

“WE’RE GOING A MILE SLOWER. THAT’S FINE.”

“Are you _quite_ all right?”

“OBVIOUSLY!”

“Not to _me_ it’s not,” said Rupert, but went back to pressing himself against the locked car door. As though _that_ would help him when Jenny inevitably drove them both off a cliff. A little apprehensively, he said, “Jenny, I—I never meant to make you feel—”

“I am FINE,” said Jenny, and slammed on the brakes just in time to stop at a stoplight. The terrifying _screech_ made them both wince.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said Rupert suddenly, an exasperated expression on his face. “You are _clearly_ not fine. I can understand and respect the fact that you might not want to talk about it, but can we at least be honest with each other about _that_ much?”

 _That_ did it. “How are _you_ fine?” Jenny burst out.

“I’m sorry?”

“With the—” Jenny waved a frustrated hand. “The _cuddling,_ and the _flirting,_ and me throwing my t-shirt at you! How are you just _fine_ with that?”

“I—” Rupert blushed fiercely and didn’t say anything.

“Rupert,” said Jenny, determined to win this one, “if you answer that question, I will explain to you why I’m _not_ fine.”

He wasn’t going to answer. He wasn’t, and then she wouldn’t have to answer _him._ He absolutely was not going to look up, steel himself, and admit that—

“Because I _like_ you, Jenny,” said Rupert with frustration. “I think you’re intelligent, attractive, compassionate, and impossibly fun to be around. You—you _challenge_ me in a way I haven’t experienced in a very long time. You make me want to _change._ Not a lot of people can elicit a response like that in me, and even fewer people inspire me to change in a way that I like to think is genuinely for the better.”

Motherfucking fuck.

“I _like_ you,” said Rupert, looking extremely pissed off about it. “All right?”

Pressing her lips together, Jenny directed her eyes at the road.

“Jenny, this was your bargain.”

Jenny turned on the radio.

“We made a _deal,”_ said Rupert, turning the radio back off. “Have the decency to hold up your end of it—”

“Rupert, I don’t _do_ serious!” Jenny burst out. “I’m not—I don’t know how to commit to things, okay? Not like you do. Not—not with the same kind of dedication and passion. And you make me— _want—_ to learn how to do that, and I don’t know if I—” She shook her head furiously, unable to look at him. Her heart was pounding. “You’re just too _good,”_ she said with difficulty. “Good guys like you don’t go for girls like me.”

Rupert didn’t say anything in response to that, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at him for the rest of the drive. The silence was all but unbearable, so she switched on the radio—and of fucking _course_ it landed on The La’s.

_And I just can’t contain / This feeling that remains—_

Jenny turned the radio off with enough violence to break it. By some miracle, it didn’t.

“I did like that song,” said Rupert tentatively. Jenny _definitely_ didn’t respond to _that._

When they finally pulled up in front of their destination, Jenny said jerkily, “It’s the building directly to our right. Password is…god, it’s something really fucking pretentious. Pretty sure it’s _cogito ergo sum.”_

“Is Descartes pretentious?” said Rupert.

“It is when you have to say it in _Latin,”_ said Jenny, glaring a little at the rearview mirror.

“Jenny—”

“Just…just go in, okay?” Jenny bit her lip, then added, “Thanks, by the way. For doing this.”

“Of course,” said Rupert stiffly, taking the list of books from the glove compartment and getting out of the car.

Jenny only looked towards him when he was walking up the steps. She’d meant to go in with him, she realized—she’d meant to walk arm-in-arm with him, laugh theatrically, have fun playing the part of his pretty, professorial girlfriend without any of the consequences. She thought she would have liked to see the inside of the Order of the Peryton’s secret library—snoop around with Rupert and watch him get all giggly and happy about the wealth of knowledge at his fingertips. She _would_ have liked that, but she’d asked Rupert to help her and then proceeded to be the biggest hot mess on the planet. She was lucky enough that he was about to go into the building and get the stuff himself—

—except he wasn’t.

Jenny squinted, worry settling in her chest as she watched Rupert. He had stopped walking halfway up the steps, frozen in place as if thinking about something. Then, slowly, he turned to face her, walking faster and faster until he was all but sprinting to yank the car door open again.

“Rupert—”

“Jenny, you _are_ good, all right?” said Rupert roughly. _“Lovely._ Don’t ever let yourself think that you’re anything but.”

Jenny pressed her lips together into a thin, unfriendly smile. “Is that seriously why you’ve come back here?”

 _“Don’t_ deflect this,” said Rupert with a kind of fierce exasperation. “Don’t act as though a relationship between us would be some kind of romanticized impossibility. I’d never ask for anything you’re not willing to give me. I need you to know that.”

When faced with Rupert’s unbridled sincerity, Jenny found it hard to meet his eyes. Looking away, she said, “I just—I’m _not—”_

“Come in and help me with this book,” said Rupert. “It won’t be half the fun I was hoping for if you’re not here to help me.”

Something about that hit Jenny where she wasn’t expecting. “You’re calling this thing _fun?”_

“Shockingly, yes,” said Rupert, and grinned a little awkwardly, extending a hand to her.

 _I’d never ask for anything you’re not willing to give me,_ he’d said—as though that in itself wasn’t the most romantic thing a guy had _ever_ said to her. Everything about this trip felt like it had been scooped out of some kind of a romance novel: too _easy_ for someone chaotic and noncommittal like Jenny. Was this even something that someone like her was supposed to _have?_

Rupert’s smile flickered, his eyes dropping. He let his hand fall. “O-of course, it’s fine if you—” he began, already turning away.

Jenny’s weirdly competitive instinct flared up yet again: how _dare_ he assume she was just going to back down that easily? “No, I’m coming!” she said hotly.

Rupert turned back, giving her a skeptical look. _“Really?”_

“Why wouldn’t I?” Jenny pushed her way past him, almost tripping over the curb in her haste to get out of the car. “Let’s do this.”

“Jenny—”

“Let’s _do this,”_ said Jenny through her teeth, already hurrying in the direction of the Order of the Peryton. “It’ll be _fun.”_

“For god’s sake, Jenny, at least give me some time to catch up!” Rupert took a few running steps to fall into stride with her, tugging at her arm until she was forced to stop. _“Look_ at me. If it’s what you want, we don’t have to be _anything_ but workplace enemies who yell at each other in the faculty room. I’m _not_ asking for _anything_ from you—”

“You clearly have feelings for me!”

“That doesn’t _entitle_ me to feelings from you!”

“Are you _insane?_ Of _course_ I have feelings for you!” Jenny shouted, completely losing her temper. “What part of that do you not _get?”_

“You—” Rupert stopped, turning kind of pink. Collecting himself, he said, “Jenny. I’m simply unclear as to what you _want_ from this situation.”

The question threw Jenny off. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, and said very loudly, “I WANT TO GET THE DAMN BOOKS,” grabbing Rupert’s arm and towing him up the front steps of the Order of the Peryton.

Rupert yanked his arm free, stopping them right outside the entrance. _“No,”_ he said. “You’re dodging the question and I won’t have it. We can’t present a united front if we don’t know what we are to each other—”

“I _don’t_ want some domestic little love story!”

“And what gives you the idea that _I_ want something you don’t?”

 _“Look at you!”_ Jenny burst out, waving her hands at him. “You’re pretty much the poster boy for traditionalism! I can’t see _anyone_ as sweet and fun to be around as you settling for someone who genuinely _does not know what she wants!”_

“You said you want to learn how to commit,” said Rupert.

“Wh—” Jenny’s heart flipped over. “When did I say that?”

“In the car. You said I make you want to learn how to commit to things.”

“I don’t know if I said _that.”_

“Are you seriously not committing to your _earlier statement regarding commitment?”_

“I’m not _not committing to it,_ I just—”

“Jenny,” said Rupert, placing his hands on her shoulders. After a moment of hesitation, he said, “If you _really_ aren’t interested in a more serious commitment, there are always…” One of his hands moved from her shoulder to rest with quiet, weighted purpose on her hip. “Other options.”

Jenny drew in a sharp breath.

Mistaking this reaction for discomfort, Rupert immediately took his hand away. “O-of course, if—”

Oh, fuck this. As the last vestiges of Jenny’s self-control crumbled into dust, she grabbed Rupert’s lapels, yanking him into something that was _supposed_ to be a hard, bruising kiss. Unfortunately for both of them, however, Jenny had forgotten to take into account that Rupert was _extremely_ easily startled—and this was no exception. As soon as their lips touched, Rupert let out a shocked breath and instinctively stepped back—and his foot missed the stairs, sending both of them tumbling down the steps and onto the concrete.

Jenny, thankfully, had landed on Rupert. Not so thankfully, Rupert had landed on concrete. “Oh my god,” she said breathlessly, shifting her weight so that she was straddling him and immediately subsequently wondering _why the fuck she was not moving away._ “Okay. I am very sorry and will not do that again.”

“Yes, please don’t,” said Rupert, and then his eyes _flew_ open. “Hold on. Clarifying question: do you mean the kiss or the startling me into falling to the concrete?”

“The—well, which one _don’t_ you want me to do?” said Jenny evasively.

“I asked you first.”

“I’m asking the more important question!”

Rupert sat up, Jenny still in his lap, and fixed her with an exasperated stare. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know we were ranking questions by _importance_ rather than—” His face softened. “What?”

“What?” Jenny echoed, confused.

“You’re lit up like a Christmas tree,” said Rupert, and Jenny belatedly realized that her cheeks _ached_ from how hard she was smiling. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that.”

Jenny tried her best to stop smiling. It didn’t work. “We should probably get on those books, right?” she said.

Rupert didn’t move.

“Rupert?”

Carefully, Rupert raised his hand to Jenny’s face. _“Will_ you kiss me again?” he said—and though it was framed as a genuine question, there was a shyly hopeful note to his voice that made it clear what he wanted the answer to be.

Placing her hands on his shoulders, Jenny said, “You _do_ realize we’re sitting on the sidewalk in pretty much the most undignified position possible, right?”

“You’re very pretty.”

“Do you have _head trauma?”_

Rupert laughed, rubbing the back of his head. “Probably, but the statement still stands even if I don’t.”

“Hospital time.”

“Jenny, that was a _joke—”_

“Don’t joke about head trauma. We’re getting you looked at.”

“I’ve taken _significantly_ worse falls. This is fine.”

_“I’m sorry, is that supposed to make me feel better?”_

Rupert grinned a little. “Really, Jenny, I’m _fine,”_ he insisted, and at a doubtful look from Jenny he rolled his eyes a little. “All right, there’ll likely be a bruise, but I came here to help you with your books and that’s what I’m going to do—”

“What is _wrong with you.”_ Without thinking too much about it, Jenny pressed a kiss to his cheek; her heart did a backflip at the wide-eyed smile she received for her troubles. “Come on. If you’re _so_ sure that you’re okay, we can do the book thing on a _trial basis,_ but the minute you start feeling awful you _tell me.”_

“Duly noted,” said Rupert, who was blushing.

* * *

The LA office of the Order of the Peryton looked a lot like someone had crossed a library with a museum. Under normal circumstances, this sort of thing would appeal to Giles in a way that would make his current mission _laughably_ easy. After all, he was an articulate occult academic with an established reputation in polite magical society, and could speak at great length about magical disciplines in a way that would win these men over very quickly.

Jenny Calendar holding his hand did not qualify as normal circumstances.

“Rupert Giles, you say?” the man at the front desk repeated, giving Giles and Jenny a dubious look. “And your lady friend is…”

“Indeed,” said Giles, and decided that this was as articulate as he could get for the time being. For good measure, however, he added “Precisely,” and felt very proud of himself for that.

“Sweetie,” said Jenny. “Are you concussed?”

Giles was beginning to recognize that this was somewhat dangerous territory for three reasons:

  1. If he did not come up with an articulate answer to Jenny’s question, Jenny would assume him concussed and call off the whole thing, and he would not be able to properly help her with the first thing she had _actually asked for his help with—_ which would surely lower him somewhat in her eyes.
  2. If he did not come up with _anything_ articulate, he would look like an idiot in front of this man, who would not have any interest in lending a book to some random individual who might have just wandered in off the streets—which would again lower him somewhat in Jenny’s eyes. Which Giles was beginning to realize that he _very much did not want._
  3. Coming up with anything articulate was entirely impossible when Jenny’s thumb had just brushed against the side of his index finger.



“Yes,” said Giles without thinking. Then, “Ah. No?”

“We’re here about a book,” said Jenny to the man. “A few books, actually.”

“I _don’t_ think I was talking to you,” said the man dismissively, turning his attention back to Giles. “Mr. Giles, do please impart upon your lady friend the importance of knowing her _place._ We here at the Order of the Peryton deal only with _serious_ academics.”

 _That_ got Giles’s attention. “And who’s to say that Ms. Calendar isn’t a serious academic?” he said coldly, letting go of Jenny’s hand to move his own hand to her shoulder.

The man gave Giles a disbelieving stare, shook his head a little, and said, “This is not the matter at hand. Seeing as you clearly _can_ speak, what books do you require?”

“Thank you, but I don’t think we’ll be borrowing books from _you,”_ said Giles, too outraged to remember anything other than the fact that Jenny Calendar’s intellect and ability had both been challenged by a ridiculous man in a ridiculous suit.

 _“Rupert,”_ said Jenny through her teeth, “I’ve heard worse insults than this. Some of them were from _you._ Just—”

“Yes, well, this man isn’t qualified to make such absurd accusations regarding _your_ clearly stellar qualifications!”

“Oh, and you _are?”_

“I have made it quite clear that my initial judgment of you was flawed, idiotic, and based on biased assumptions—”

“Oh my god this is _so not the point._ Look, we came _down here_ to get these books—”

“Damn it, Jenny, I could have gotten you the books in a matter of _days_ if you’d given me a list! I have _more_ than enough academic connections to scour the globe for even the rarest of volumes—I came down here because I _like spending time with you!”_

Jenny’s jaw dropped. Belatedly, Giles realized what he had just said, and was stammering towards a reply when she said, “I am so stupid. I’m so _stupid._ I could have asked you for the books at _any time_ during this process—you’re a librarian, you’ve got a _huge_ collection— _how did I not figure this out?”_

“Jenny, it’s fine—”

“I like spending time with _you!”_ said Jenny, sounding genuinely horrified. “It’s _fun!_ I like arguing with you, a-and holding your hand, and getting so wrapped up in a conversation that I forget about everything but what we’re talking about—”

 _“What_ is going on,” said the man at the front desk.

“Not now, I’m busy,” said Jenny, waving a general hand in the man’s direction. Giles fought back a hysterical giggle. “Rupert, I—” She was blushing furiously, her face drawn into a miserable frown as she hugged her elbows against her chest. “I _like_ you,” she said. “Okay?”

Giles’s heart was beating very, very fast and he felt more than a little lightheaded. Without a word, he extended a hand to her; she uncrossed her arms to take it, lacing their fingers together.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to _leave,”_ said the man pointedly.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” said Jenny, her eyes locked on Giles’s as he gently pulled her out the door. As soon as it had shut behind them, she said a little shakily, “I do. I—I think I do. I like you. I want to—give this a shot.”

“It doesn’t have to go anywhere immediately,” said Giles, who was beginning to get the sense that Jenny needed much gentler handling than she let on. “We can—take it slow, if you like. Stay friends a little while longer.”

 _“Are_ we friends?”

“If you want to be.”

“Of course I—” Jenny’s blush deepened.

Giles reached up with his free hand, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyelashes fluttered as she smiled, and for the first time, Giles realized that Jenny was actually quite a bit shorter than him. _Petite,_ he thought with affection. “I like you too,” he said. “If I haven’t made that clear enough already.”

Jenny opened her eyes again, looking up at him in that steady, challenging way that was _much_ more familiar to him. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said lightly. “I think you could stand to make it a little clearer.”

All of Giles’s easy confidence—what little there was—melted away in the face of those dark brown eyes. “O-oh, I—”

“I’m asking you to kiss me, Rupert.”

“No, I-I know, I—”

Jenny laughed softly, reaching up to gently place her hands on his shoulders. She didn’t lean in to kiss him, though—just stood there, a gentle breeze blowing her short hair to fluff it out around her face as she gave him that beautiful open-mouthed smile of hers. A strange, warm, undefined _feeling_ rose up in Giles as he looked at her, and it must have shown in his eyes, because she said, “Y’know, you’re _looking_ at me like you want to kiss me, but—”

Giles bridged the gap.

Really, he thought, moving one of his hands to rest on the small of Jenny’s back and tug her just a little bit closer, kissing Jenny Calendar was _much_ nicer when it didn’t end in you falling down a set of stone steps and landing hard on the concrete. It was sunny and warm despite the breeze, and she had moved to link her hands at the nape of his neck—and for the first time since getting off the plane to Sunnydale, Rupert Giles found himself feeling _happy._

* * *

“Room service?”

“Mm. _I’m_ not moving.”

Rolling her eyes, Jenny draped an arm over Rupert’s stomach, snuggling closer to him. She wasn’t usually a cuddler after sex—more of an “already out the door” kind of person—but this weekend had proven pretty solidly that Rupert Giles was the exception to pretty much all of her usual rules. “Can you reach the clock radio?”

“Is it a clock _radio?”_ said Rupert with interest, sitting up to get a better look at the thing. Jenny, who was still draped across him, stubbornly tightened her grip—which ended up pulling her up to a sitting position as well. She laughed, resting her chin on his shoulder as he fiddled with the radio. _“Marvelous._ What do you want the radio for?”

With a small smile, Jenny said, “I’m in the mood for some music.”


End file.
